Not Black, Not White, But Grey
by 7thtreasure
Summary: Promises to live. Gifts of all kinds to give. She was a wolf on the hunt. She had her weapons, none deadlier than the vow that kept her going but a stupid bull had to get in her way. Multi-chapter,eventual Arya/Gendry.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been toying with this for quite some time since I wrote 'Two Bastards on the Wall' and have decided to post this on a request from a friend. This is to be a multi-fic, same AU as 'TBotW' but a fleshed out version with a little tweaks. I beg pardon for any typos or grammatical errors. I'm still looking for a beta. The events are more or less canon-compliant before events of 'A Storm of Swords'. Humor me.**

**...Long ago, I did some math and realized, Lyanna would have been around 14 years old when she was kidnapped/ran-off with Rhaegar who was about 22 years of age. Yeah, no such thing as statutory rape in the land of Westeros or Essos for that matter because if there was, we wouldn't have us some of the most delicious ships evaaar.**

**Read in 3/4 Format.  
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Chapter 1

Duty and Vows

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Arya swept her free hand against her forehead at sweat that never seemed to surface as she watched her breath mist in front of her. Her lungs were burning, cold air getting harder and harder to breathe, and her limbs stung with exertion. Her fingers felt stiff from the cold and her left hand felt numb as she gripped her wooden sword.

Despite it all, she felt strangely happy. The pain was welcome and at least she felt a sort of warmth in the familiarity of it all...she felt alive.

_Clack. Clack._

She blocked Hot Pie's weak attempts at an attack with certain ease, before landing a hit on his sword-hand. He was obviously winded but at least he was getting better. She almost grinned as he cried out in pain, lifting her playsword, making as if to strike hard, enjoying the way he squirmed in anticipation.

_"Dead."_

She mouthed silently after poking him lightly in the belly. She turned away then, leaning down and grasping the wooden blade, handing it back to Hot Pie handle first.

"You're getting better."

She watched surprise flicker on his face. It wasn't that long ago when she would have scorned his companionship, and it wasn't that long ago that she had beat him mercilessly with a stick, but a lot had happened since then. She felt a mixture of guilt and annoyance prickle at the back of her mind. He was part of her pack now, she wasn't supposed to be scaring him anymore.

"Thanks. I still can't compare to you tho'"

She shrugged and turned away, deciding they both needed a break. She knew he still held on to a healthy amount of fear towards her. Killing in front of him had not helped but she had no choice during those times for their survival.

"You should go back to see if the cook needs anything. We've finished our required exercises anyway."

She gave a sideways glance to see their master-at-arms still focused on another pair across the training yard.

"Aye, it's useless anyway. Don't miss dinner again. Hobb'll be lettin' me do the pies tonight."

"It's not useless! You _are_ getting better."

He waved her jab at comfort away as he shuffled towards the Common Hall.

Arya steadied her breathing and cleared her mind once more, waiting for her blood to calm. She closed her eyes, replaying the past hours' lessons and movements in her mind's eye, frowning at the unconscious and obvious openings she had allowed Hot Pie. He didn't even see them but it was no excuse. At least the cold was helping her build up stamina.

"Gone easy he has on our new piggy, eh?"

"'suppose Stark men love 'em fat."

Arya spun around to glare at a pair of Jon's 'brothers' who were sniggering to the side, standing around with nothing else to do, she assumed.

She had gotten used to the teasing but it didn't mean she hated it any less. An old itch in her knuckles started up again. In Winterfell, she was used to making sure any boy who got it into their stupid heads to mock her, or her pack, within her hearing got a good bloodying.

She crushed the line of thought almost immediately. She didn't want to appear weak again. Not in front of them. Not when the stabbing ache was getting harder to ignore with Jon so near.

"You shouldn't mind 'em, _boy_. That was a good parry. I didn't know Lord Stark had his stable boys trained in the Braavosi style, though it suits you quite well."

She turned towards Donal Noye, the castle blacksmith who was helping Ser Endrew Tarth for the time being seeing as Ser Alliser Thorne had yet to return. The tone he used when calling her 'boy' always started something like worry in her belly.

"Well, he did." she replied coolly.

That's right. She was a stable boy, or had been one, for the late Lord Eddard Stark right before the purge of said lord's household in the capital. Arry had no home and no family. Arry was entitled to his share of tears but Arry was a boy, and boys who cried were weak.

Of all the things Arya was not, she was not weak, and she would be damned before the boy she portrayed would be thought of as weak. For now, she was just another recruit for the Night's Watch with very special circumstances surrounding her recruitment. Thank the gods for Yoren and his quick thinking.

"Where'd you get that blade there? He the one who gave you that pin of a sword you 'ave?"

She could not keep herself from bristling. Needle was a fine blade. Anyone with two eyes could see that, most of all a smith. She fought down the bile rising in her throat. She didn't like chatting about her father so nonchalantly but she had to keep it up. Lord Stark had only been a good liege lord to Arry, nothing more.

"No. It was a gift."

"Give it 'ere then."

Suspicion made her hesitate from handing her sword to him as she untied Needle from her hip.

She usually kept it beneath the bed she shared with Jon in his steward's chambers and wore it mostly when she donned a cloak, which she had shed in favor of more practical clothing for sword practice. She had forgotten to tuck Needle away.

She regretted it now. Memories of Polliver and images of the bald man holding the one thing that reminded her of home, of Jon, flashed before her eyes as his gloved hand pried her fingers away from the hilt.

"Castle forged steel hmm..."

"So I've been told."

After a few minutes of scrutinizing, he returned her blade without incident.

"Lord Stark rewarded his servants most graciously, and with good steel no less."

"He wasn't the one who gave Needle to me."

The smith continued on, as if not hearing her.

"I knew Ned, rode with him even.' knew his castle smith, Mikken I think his name was. I knew his mark. Every good smith has a mark. That blade you're holding has something quite special though. Look t' the underside of the hilt."

She didn't have to look. She knew Needle's every nick, every inch of the blade that was her most prized possession, and there, where the smith had pointed out, was an intricate engraving that would have been easily missed by anybody else.

Not waiting for her to actually check as he had instructed, Noye stooped to level his eyes with hers, lowering his voice.

"You know what it means, _boy_? That there mark means it was made for the people the smith served or was sworn to, different from a smith's usual mark for workmanship. It's how you know if something's been specially made and to who it's supposed to belong to."

Arya felt herself shift under Noye's gaze, disliking the way his eyes twinkled with something she could not pin. Returning his gaze was all she could do before he finally pulled away with a huff. He continued to stand beside her though. Still talking, as they observed a few other recruits who hadn't finished their exercises yet.

"O' course you already said it was a gift. I m'self had done a few works with similar markings long ago, before the Wall. Now the things I forge bear nothing of the sort. Part of our vows, you know. No glory for ourselves. But I know each and every weapon I've made, be it steel or any other metal."

He continued to ramble but she barely heard him, zoning him out. She was good at that. Years spent being constantly scolded and nagged on the proper way of things had her quite proficient in hearing without truly hearing. Syrio had scolded her on that habit, discovering it through testing her memory of what went about her, but the master swordsman wasn't here right now.

Her identity had yet to be revealed until Lord Mormont decided what to do with her and so far, only the Lord Commander, Jon, Yoren, and Gendry knew who she was. Hot Pie knew she was a girl but kept to calling her Arry anyway. He didn't like being confused and her latest identity and lie confused him even more, all he knew was that he was to keep his mouth shut about it or else.

Noye had been sniffing around since their party arrived but Jon and Gendry said it wouldn't be all bad if he did find out. He was a good man they said. She wasn't too quick to trust the one-armed smith just yet though.

Everyone else now knew her to be one of her late father's stable boys who had barely escaped the massacre of their entire household in the capital. They had to put out the lie seeing as she had shamefully broken down, crying and clinging to Jon once she saw him, all garbed in black.

The rest of the men, who had survived with Yoren when their party was scattered fighting Amory Lorch's men, understood that their recruiter wished to keep _his_, Arry's, identity a secret to save _him_ from the Goldcloaks. They all saw her now as some misfortunate brat who loved the family _he _served to a fault. Being half-mad in their eyes also helped keep them from venturing too close to her anyway.

It was because of her that Jon was now the point of japes, a stable boy lover they said. They only ever stopped calling her crybaby to her face when either Jon or Gendry were around.

She stayed with Jon in his steward's chambers for the time being. She loved being with her brother but she was well aware about the rumors of her brother preferring cocks to cunts. She wouldn't have minded sharing a bed with Gendry or Hot Pie, with her being completely used to having Gendry's large warm back against hers while traveling up the Kingsroad. Jon wouldn't stand for it though and the Lord Commander found it oddly amusing when the Old Bear wasn't being gruff and unpleasant towards Arya.

She knew she could not stay long with the Night's Watch. Jon had explained to her the vows they took, the neutrality that the order could not afford to break. Lord Mormont, Jon had explained, was still debating what to do with her since they could not keep her forever.

News from the south had been mostly vague and Lord Mormont could not risk her an escort. He wasn't entirely sure where to send her either seeing as she had no place else to go. She couldn't very well follow Robb into the war.

She had already tried. It had taken every ounce of Yoren and Gendry's very strong persuasion to proceed to the Wall but it had taken the sight of Jon to remind her she needed to keep alive if she wanted to finish her list.

On their way north, they had a dangerous brush-in with some of Bolton's men scouring the lands around Winterfell. They were supposed to be Stark men and acted as if taking their supplies, little and foraged as it was, was a favor to Arya's group. She would have taken the bullying with shut in anger but the japes about the sack of her home and the murder of her younger brothers had led her to drawing her blades.

Her companions had to knock her out. Two days' ride from Winterfell was when she woke spitting and cursing at Yoren and the rest for cowardice. They had to knock her out again. It had taken a considerable amount of time spent weeping when she thought no one saw and whacking at Gendry mercilessly with a wooden sword for her to finally calm down.

It had been a week since their party's arrival in Castle Black. They had found the brothers of the Night's Watch awaiting Yoren's return with new recruits before setting off for a ranging beyond the Wall. It was one of the reasons Lord Mormont was a bit gruff towards her. He had no men to spare for her sake and something seemed to be troubling him after his briefing with Yoren. The Lord Commander had eventually put off the ranging, setting the date of their departure a fortnight from the original schedule.

The stories Jon had told her, of the wights and the Others, had left her scared witless. '_Fear cuts deeper than swords._' The phrase felt oddly weak now that the monsters Jon spoke of, the subject of many of Old Nan's bedtime stories, felt like the embodiment of fear itself.

Decidedly, she preferred thinking of more pressing worries...well, worries that weren't quite as nightmarish, and so she worried for Gendry because worrying about her family would most likely result in tears on her part.

She knew Gendry too was wanted dead by Queen Cersei but the armorer's prentice assured her he knew nothing of the cause of the warrant for his head. Yoren and the Lord Commander and some of the older crows seemed to know, the ones who had fought in King Robert's conquest. She had heard the whispers about Stags and rutting, but she paid them no mind. She didn't care much for gossip.

More alarming to her was the one-armed Donal Noye. The blacksmith was showing unusual interest in her friend and in herself and she felt it had little to do with Gendry's smithing skills or her lack thereof, though the old man made it clear to all that he was exceptionally happy and grateful to have a real prentice with a real knack for the work, or art as he called it. The other old men looked as if a shade from the past was walking amongst them.

Several officers had raised their brows when they found him preferring his hammer over any sword but found it endlessly amusing when he took to the forge with Noye rather than the training yard where most of the recruits were proving themselves to be ready for their vows.

"Hot Pie told me you beat 'im at swords again. How 'bout a round wi'me if you've got nothing to do than humiliating cook's helpers?"

Speak-well, more like thinking of the bastard...

"I didn't humiliate him."

"I'm sure we should all agree 'twas unfair to pit you against Hot Pie since the beginning anyway."

Arya felt the disturbing flutter in her stomach that usually happened when she was around the young smith. She turned to find teasing blue eyes looking back at her from a face Jeyne would've called handsome or some such nonsense.

Gendry wasn't handsome. He just looked like he could lift a dead pony without much strain and his skin reminded one of days spent under a summer sun.

She admitted she liked the color of his eyes because they reminded her of the color of her Robb's eyes, only there wasn't anything similar with the feelings she had for her brother and the strange emotion the Bull evoked in her. She liked his smile too. Yes, Gendry could almost be handsome, if he kept his mouth shut. 'Stupid' was a word she preferred to use to describe him anyway.

"It's not my fault he's still so slow."

"I'll be sure not t'be as slow then." Gendry offered, playsword already in hand.

"You'll always be slower than me." she returned as she prepared herself mentally, her blood pumping with anticipation, a smile already on her lips.

"But I'll always be bigger'n'stronger than you."

Ignored the sound of her heart beating which seemed louder at the moment as he grinned challengingly at her, she noted instead her annoyance at the obvious amusement she could feel rolling off of Noye.

"'nough of this. Back to the armorey wi' you, lad. Armorers don't go about beating nine year old-"

_For the love of..._

"I'm almost one-and-ten!"

The sound of her own voice and indignation made Arya color. Surely she looked older than a boy Bran's age and her voice was as high pitched as any greenboy.

"Fine. We, _men_, don't go about beating one-and-ten _boys_, 'specially when we're twice their size."

She scowled at the old man, who at the moment didn't seem to mind losing his other arm. She almost preferred his trying to trap her into admitting she wasn't who she said she was than hear him insinuate she was incapable. Needle wouldn't do and she mused if it really was possible to hack off an arm with just a wooden sword. No. Jon seemed to respect the old man and Gendry was oddly fond of him.

"It's alright. Me 'n' Arry've trained together on the road. _He's_ not afraid of gettin' some bruises, are you Arry?"

"You'll get more bruises than I had mind of giving you unless you don't shut up, stupid."

Noye still looked nonplussed but backed away all the same as Arya took her stance. She didn't like being reminded that she was skinny and small yet, but Syrio had taught her how to use it to her advantage, if she wasn't acting on pure rage, that is.

She had learned much from the swordsmaster, remembering and practicing each vivid lesson as much as possible. Slipping into a waterdancer's skin helped her think, helped keep the nightmares at bay.

Sometimes, it was as if she could hear her tutor whispering his cryptic words as her body shifted through the movements needed to avoid being a 'dead girl'. She was not good at being a lady but her father had gotten her the best dance teacher and she had certainly become good at dancing.

She danced with Gendry then, back and forth. Arya noted the obvious improvement in his defenses as he parried better than the first time they had actually tried to spar, days before reaching Last Hearth.

That was all they did then as they traveled north, forage, practice swords, forage some more. Gendry's strategy had been to put enough force behind a blow, using the sword like a club, so that all it took was one strike but Yoren had quickly beaten it out of him, though her friend certainly had enough strength to back up his unique sword style. The others had kept clear of them but Yoren always seemed to be overseeing their sessions anyway.

Beginning to feel the weight of the past hours' exertion on her limbs, Arya pushed harder to finish their round quickly, mustering whatever dreg of power she still had. She winced as Gendry landed another blow to her side.

_'Seven hells.'_

She retaliated, landing three or four quick blows for every one he landed on her but his blows were heavy, speaking volumes of his strength. Arya felt herself tiring quickly but was satisfied to see beads of sweat glistening on Gendry's brow.

Her muscles seemed to thrum with both pain and something else as her whole being was momentarily centered on every movement they danced. Gendry's lunges would not be described as graceful but she found herself acutely aware of his every twitch, every intake of breath, and finding them strangely enchanting.

How the southron's exposed skin managed to sweat against the cold, she did not know. His blue eyes were bright and steady, darting to follow her movements but always managing to find hers. Syrio had taught that the eyes could be used to lie and she was still learning how to do it proficiently. Sparring with Gendry never helped her practice it though. His eyes were just too open, too honest, for her to consciously allow herself to deceive with her own.

Though Gendry had gotten used to defending against her and her left hand, he was never good with balance. He let out a grunt as her sword found his hip. Finding several openings, she pushed him back further, not noticing they were near the south end of the training yard.

Unlike with Hot Pie, she didn't need to hold back when she came at Gendry, just as she expected him not to hold back on her. She could trust him to take her blows with grace and the occasional mock anger. Their sessions were always satisfying despite being awfully painful at times. The exhaustion that hit her after every spar with Gendry was different. She would be left breathless, yes, but the feeling of it all was exhilarating.

_'Like water...'_

He lost his footing for a second but that was all she needed. She sidestepped then bent low, fluid in her movement as his wooden sword came swinging down to get in another blow, unwilling to lose. With a grace she had trained hour after hour with Syrio, she caught him smartly from behind, whacking the back of his knees as she forced him to crumple forward.

She sucked at the icy air greedily, barely noting the heavy hand on her shoulder, blood pounding in her ears, blocking out the sound of voices.

"Arry. Arry! Let him go. The poor lad's yielded!"

She blinked, feeling her playsword being yanked away. Gendry struggled back to his feet, rubbing at the angry red mark on his throat. Apparently, she had held her wooden blade against his neck, too caught up to hear him yield. She sputtered out an apology, flinching at his obvious pain.

"Sorry, I-"

"S'alright, but gods, Arry" Gendry rasped out as he tried to crack a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace.

"Well, that was...surprising to say the least. Good show- from both o' you. You should've told me you could do all that and spared me 'n' Tarth from looking like fools, teaching you the basics, _boy_."

She looked up at the one-armed smith, his hand still on her shoulder.

"The first lesson I had was '_stick'em with the pointy end_', everything else followed."

Noye chuckled, patting her on the back before giving Gendry a slap on the arm. He looked thoroughly impressed and was looking at her with what she recognized as respect. It was the same look Yoren had given her when their party had reunited. The recruiter had not expected to see her again, or Gendry, or Hot Pie, certain that the trio would've been devoured by wolves if not killed by the Lannister men or whatever else hunted along Kingsroad.

Other noises caught her attention as they stalked back towards the stalls that lined the training yard. The yard had filled up with an audience of sorts during her session with Gendry and most were looking at her with something akin to awe and surprise on their faces. She glanced around to find Ser Endrew giving her an approving nod.

Gendry was a formidable opponent, both in a strictly physical aspect and in the use of weapons because he had a respectable amount of knowledge on how to wield the things he helped make, but her besting him had proven she wasn't some child to be taken lightly. Since the start of her training, she had always been paired with Hot Pie, the both of them seen as the weakest among the recruits being the youngest.

"At least everyone's going to know you can hold a stick better than most of'em can. Mind you though, they still have weight on their side, easily topple you if need be."

She almost snorted at the useless advice as she watched their trainer head towards another pair of boys about Gendry's age who were supposed to training and not gawking at them. The old man called without looking back for Gendry to follow back to the forge after he was rested. They took to a nearby bench with Gendry still rubbing at his throat and her trying to hide how much her side was paining her. Jon was going to give a fit if he saw her bruises. She would deal with him later.

"I don't think Noye likes it much when I come over to see you at the forge."

She surprised herself for thinking out loud to her friend.

She felt Gendry brush his arm against hers, suppressing the tingle that shot up her spine at the contact. She chalked it up to the fact that she rarely saw him anymore after having spent day and night together, always having each other's backs with danger always stalking them as they traveled north.

The heat rising to her face was surely from the exertion and she knew it was useless to even try to cool down while the young smith was beside her.

"I don't think Jon likes it much when _I_ talk to you."

His reply made her snort as she elbowed him, earning her a playful shove.

It was true that Jon minded her talking to Gendry even after she had explained the other bastard boy already knew she was a girl. She loved Jon dearly but bugger it all if she wasn't allowed to talk to her friend when she rarely saw Jon during the day.

"I think it's because he doesn't like stupid rubbing off on me. How do you explain Noye's attitude then?"

"Stable boys aren't supposed to be wanderin' about in forges but I think you should avoid 'im when you can. He asks me about you sometimes, 'bout our relationship. We're friends, I told him as much. He's got his own ideas, though, and I think he knows something's off about you."

Arya did not understand why she felt inexplicably flustered at the choice of his words.

"_Ideas about what?_"

"How should I know? Just—just don't get too close to him or he'll figure you aint some lowborn stable boy after all."

Her continued puzzlement had Gendry's face take on a shade of red. He sputtered something incoherent before excusing himself to the armorey. Her friend had been acting quite odd when they were together lately, not that she was any different. They rarely japed anymore and their conversations usually ended with one of them getting decidedly pissed off.

Thankfully, he had yet to bring up the matter of her birth and difference in station since reaching the Wall. They both knew talking about it was pretty much like picking a fight. It still baffled her as to why her being highborn was such a touchy subject when he knew very well she didn't mind him being a bastard, she was no lady anyway.

Her mind drifted as her eyes continued to wander, observing her surroundings. The pain in her side numbed a little but she let her arms hang lazily on her sides, weighing like lead.

She remembered the first time she saw Castle Black from a distance, of course having seen the Wall days earlier. The castle looked like an artist's painting against the canvas of a forever-winter white. Each imposing tower made of black stones. There was little color here on the Wall, everything washed in either black or white or shades in between.

A slight chill came over her, making her wish she had brought her coat along. She wasn't particularly cold but thinking about her current situation and the fact that her near future was at the mercy of other people's decisions made her ache for something warm to hold. Having her real pack, the surviving half anyway, so scattered, loneliness was an easy companion when she didn't have Gendry.

Her nights were spent sometimes dreaming her strange wolfdreams, others spent remembering things she knew she never saw, but mostly she slept like the dead, dreamless but not quite peaceful.

Jon said being near the Wall had something to do with it. The wolfdreams could only be explained by how much she missed Nymeria and the gods knew just how much she missed the rest of her pack. Wherever her wolf was, she felt as if Nymeria was watching over her still. She didn't tell Jon about the incident with the Brave Companions though. He might think her mad or dreaming.

She was grateful to have Jon so close. He made most of the unrelenting ache abate but reminded her of the home that was so far away. They were grateful to have found each other again but at the same time, mourned together for those they had so recently lost.

She could not ask him to help her though, with her list. It was in those odd times when she whispered her prayer that she would hold Jaqen H'ghar's strange iron coin like some talisman. Jon had his duty and she had hers. She knew her brother was conflicted in his vows but she could not ask him to choose the path she had chosen.

At night she would huddle between Ghost and her brother, breathing the scents that reminded her so much of home. Jon had caught her crying on her second night and held her 'til the morning since then, propriety be damned.

A shuffling sound from behind her snapped Arya out of her reverie. She twisted around to see Samwell Tarly struggling to hold together a load of old texts as he tried to manage his way toward the entrance of a nearby wormway that she remembered lead to a library when she had gone exploring one morning. She gave a pointed glance at some men who were guffawing, making japes at Sam's expense.

She approached him to offer help just when it looked like a few books were threatening to slip from the stack he held.

"Arry, thank goodness. Would you mind holdin' a few of this for me?"

Arya kept herself from remarking to several onlookers that they could at least offer a hand to their 'brother' and gave Sam a nod instead as he dumped a scroll and a pair of leather bound texts onto her arms.

She followed him into the tunnel, his wheezing breathe echoing all around them. Her eyes blinked as they tried to adjust, the rough gravel and frozen packed ground of the training yard giving way to smooth stone.

Where the outside of the castle was all black and white, down here, everything was yellow torch-light and shadows. The air was musty and reminded her of the dungeons underneath the Red Keep. She shuddered, imagining what it would be like to encounter one of the hulking dragon skulls here in the barely lit tunnel.

"A-arry?"

He looked behind him to check if she was still following her, his pale face flooding with relief as he sighted her.

"Oh, you're there. For a moment, I thought you'd left. I couldn't hear you following me."

She blinked. She hadn't noticed that she really hadn't made any sound since they'd entered, her feet padding silently remembering her exercises with Syrio. An image of a fat dirty tabby came to mind, causing her to grin.

"Sorry. Force of habit."

His nervous laugh had her frowning. They continued on with Arya purposefully slapping her feet against the stone. Her soles felt a bit sore once they'd reached the well lit library and she slumped down to sit on a half-covered stool.

"Someone with you, Sam? I thought I heard another set of footsteps."

Arya shot to her feet at the sound of the raspy voice. She had not noticed the old man buried behind a mountain of books.

"Aye, Maester Aemon. Arry's one of the new recruits Yoren brought from King's Landing. He helped me carry over some of the Lord Commander's personal records. There're journals of some of the old Lord Commanders here somewhere. Lord Mormont says we might find 'em useful."

"As useful as an old man's musings can be. Would you mind handing me that scroll to your right, Arry, my boy?"

She approached him, tiptoeing around the stacks of books, holding the text she guessed the old maester wanted. As she handed it to him, his ancient hands grabbed hers preventing her from pulling away. She gave him a questioning look, glancing to see if Sam was watching. Rheumy milk eyes stared back at her before she realized the old man was blind.

"You must be used to walking around with none the wiser for your steps are as light as a cat's, child, but I'm sure I heard your feet before entering this chamber."

"Sam did not like that I was so...quiet."

"Ah. Few people here in this castle would offer to help a brother like young Sam. You are a good boy, Arry. You are the one they say Yoren helped smuggle out from the capital? Pardon me for saying but you smell of the north."

"Well, he is from the north. He used to be a stable boy for Lord Eddard Stark afore the lord's execution for treason-"

"He did nothing wrong."

Arya grit her teeth. Sam's intrusion was unneeded and unwelcome, her strange conversation with the old maester far more interesting than an outsider's point of view of her father's death.

"Jon says so too and I believe him."

She held her tongue. Samwell's assurance of belief didn't sound assuring at all but at least he was loyal. Her terse reply sounded angry to her own ears.

"You must have served your lord well. But the past should not matter anymore to one who comes willingly to take the Black..."

"Saying the past should not matter does not mean it does not."

His fingers reached out, tracing her face, smiling sadly at her reply.

"Sam, would you kindly describe what Arry looks like? I fear all I see is a child who bears a weight on the shoulders twice greater than what should be carried."

Arya could not help but feel unsettled by the perceptive old man but did not pull away. She felt a sense of strength underneath all the frailty and found herself curiously studying the other as he was doing to her. If she thought Maester Luwin and Grand Maester Pycelle were old, Maester Aemon looked like he could well be old enough to be their father. His eyes were filmy with the lines on his face and hands making him look truly ancient.

She heard scuffling sounds as Sam approached them from the opposite end of the room to stand behind the old maester and to better look at her and give a good description. She shifted under his scrutiny but found herself retuning her gaze to the maester's unseeing eyes.

"He's got short dark hair, northern features mostly. Long face, white skin. He's a bit boney."

Arya found his descriptions amusing, unable to keep herself from ticking off a few descriptions she had in mind for Jon's friend.

"The eyes?"

She watched Sam squint at her, leaning over the maester to look at her more closely, his face only a few inches away from hers. Something like a blush rose to his cheeks before he pulled away. He gave a little cough as he tried not to look embarrassed.

"Grey in this light. He looks a bit pretty if you look closely."

Arya schooled her face into the coldest expression she knew, fighting the nervousness growing in her belly. Pretty? At least he didn't say pretty enough to be a girl. The amount of reading in poor light must have damaged the steward's eyes.

"Would you say he looks like Jon?"

She froze up at the question, her eyes turning to look directly at Jon's 'brother'. The steward squirmed under her gaze but looked baffled by the question.

"Well, yes, I suppose. B-but-"

"That is all Sam. You may return to your work. Read aloud to me if you find something note worthy."

Her eyes followed Aemon's steward across the room, staring at him coldly as he stole glances at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. Arya tried to pull her hand free but the maester held it firmly.

"No need to be so alarmed. He might have Jon explain a few thing and the poor boy has a good heart. Pray tell me how old you are?"

"I'll be turning one-and-ten in a few moons."

She tried to sound antagonizing but failed by a large margin. She knew she was playing a dangerous game by talking to the old man but she felt strangely as if his eyes weren't quite as unseeing as they seemed.

"Such a young age to be heading to the Wall, wouldn't you say?"

Arya had to give him some credit, he knew how to word his...statements.

"I had no choice. I escaped the purge of House Stark from the capital and was smuggled out by Yoren."

"Ah. How kind of our recruiter, but you did not quite answer the question."

"Which question?"

"My dear, you will find that here on the Wall, many have found refuge from lives best forgotten, and many are not who they say they are, or were, as in my instance. I would simply like to know if you are either or both."

His smile made her feel like she was talking to someone who would understand but she hesitated anyway. She fought her curiosity. She wasn't the only one with their true identity kept hidden.

"Nowhere south the Wall is safe for me."

It wasn't a lie. She truly had no idea where to go.

"Neither is the Wall a refuge. It remains the only thing that stands between us and creatures long thought of as myth. Would you rather remain here and face strange monsters of the cold and undead we know little of than monsters who can die by a simple dagger to the throat?"

Silence passed between them, the rustling of pages and Sam's breathing only heard.

"I do not plan to stay, I know I cannot but not for fear of things that lurk in the dark."

Arya would not have been able to take the Black anyway, not because she had no cock between her legs, but because she had vows of her own. The old maester simply nodded in understanding, letting her hand slip away as he turned towards the general direction of Sam.

"You have found nothing yet?"

"I'm sorry, Maester Aemon, but no mentions of wights or anything similar in the journals the Lord Commander gave."

"Hmm. I think it would be better if we search the older texts."

Arya stood around awkwardly but hesitated to step away.

"I can help."

Sam just blinked at her while a knowing smile played on the old maester's lips.

"I fear a library is not a stable, child. If you knew how to read and search for what we need, that would be a different matter."

Biting her lip, she shot a look at Sam. She might as well do something. She was not one for lessons but reading was much better than mucking out the stables. She was a poor stable boy anyway.

"I know my letters and I'm good at maths."

"Truly? We do not have many patient and willing or able to help in our study."

"Master Luwin of Winterfell saw to my...lessons."

The old man did not seem surprised but his steward looked as if he was going to ask how she came to have a noble's education but thought better of it and kept silent.

"Sit by me then and we shall start on the stack behind you. Do be careful, most pages are prone to tearing. Sam, carry on please."

She took a seat beside him and grabbed an ancient leather-bound text. She ran her hand over the thin yellowing leaves, noticing the words were in High Valyrian. A thought occurred to her, making her pause and turn to the old man.

"Maester Aemon..."

"What is it, child?"

"Nothing important. It's just that this book is in what I assume to be High Valyrian which reminded me of something someone once told me. Would you be able to translate it for me?"

"Ah. High Valyrian, the old tongue used mostly across the Narrow Sea. I might, but I warn you, I am a bit rusty."

"Could you tell me what _valar morghulis_ means?"

The old maester seemed to stiffen at her words. He straightened in his seat before leaning towards her, his voice almost a harsh whisper.

"Who taught you those words?"

"..."

"...A man."

The sudden change in demeanor had startled her. Her thoughts raced as the memory of Jaqen H'ghar's invitation played over and over in her mind. Aemon knew something and her silence seemed to answer for her. He slumped back in his seat but he kept his voice low, as if afraid Sam might hear.

"The first and last time I heard those words was when I was young and traveling around the realm to forge my chain. I crossed the Narrow Sea and visited the Free Cities, learning remedies unknown as of that time to the citadel. It is quite curious that you have learned those words without knowing their meaning and are still alive speaking of it to me..."

He seemed lost in his thought for a moment before turning to Arya again.

"Quite fitting a reminder for a man like me and with my age..."

The old maester trailed off again before Arya shifted, bringing his attention back to her.

"_Valar Morghulis, _'all men must die', _Valar Dohaeris_, the appropriate reply, I think, meaning 'all men must serve'. The latter, I am fulfilling, the first has yet to apply to me."

Arya repeated the two phrases, allowing them to roll of her tongue as if it was all she'd known.

'_All men must die. All men must serve. All men must die.'_

The first was an appropriate ending to her prayer after all. Her fingers found the iron coin in her pocket, brushing its surface that held new meaning and a promise of a sort, for her.

"_Valar morghulis._"

"..."

"...Maester, can you tell me more of the Free Cities?"

* * *

He should not have said anything. He should have lied.

Aemon paused in his steps, his mind reeling, a guilt he had not felt in years threatened to overcome him. Sam was saying something, but he did not hear his steward. When was the last time he had consciously led a child to their deaths? He believed he had learned his lesson and yet he had spoken to the Stark child of something he should not have.

Was he part yet again of the gods' cruel jape?

_'Valar dohaeris_ _indeed.'_

* * *

**Drop me a review if it pleases you.**

**It took me a while to post this with exams and whatnot keeping me from the wonderful awesome that is AsoIaF's fandom. Questions are welcome and will be answered when and if I can. If there are some inconsistencies, please point them out by way of review of pm.**

**For xxsupernaturalgalxx whose works on I love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Flashback ahoy! If you're confused as heck as to where exactly the AU starts or what canon events actually happened before I decided to muck things up, check out my profile. Thanks Venessia! Directing you all there for a bit of a backstory and some other notes because I'm a lazy bum and I don't like getting info-dumpey[which I do get sometimes]**

**Questions will certainly be entertained. I would love to know what you think of the events taking place and would be grateful if anyone pointed out stuff I'm getting wrong.**

**If someone dares call Arya a wimp for all the crying, I'll go all Gregor Clegane on their ass. Thanks to all those who reviewed.**

**(Read in 3/4 format)**

* * *

Chapter 2

Running

* * *

A low rumbling growl started somewhere in her chest. She was close. So close. The air tasted like a home she once knew. Cold but clear. The snow and gravel crunched underneath her, she leaped forward, some of the young pups were howling, making their presence known. She did not mind. They were full, they were excited, let them make the two-legs quake.

Their pack had passed her old home two suns ago. It had stank of blood, bad blood, and something else. She hated the odd two-legs inside. They smelled different, angry. They were easy to eat. They had no claws or teeth or horns or hooves to fight back but they wore strange hard shells and they had their sticks that made her new brothers and sisters bleed, even her.

And they had walls. Those used to be her walls, with her real pack but the new two-legs had driven them away. Her family was no more.

They killed her sister and her brother. The other two brothers were driven somewhere near the quiet one, their odd brother. She would go to them and to her other half. The two-leg sister who shared her mind, her senses. They were a pack and she lived to protect the pack.

* * *

"I had those dreams again."

Her voice made him pause mid-blade.

"Which ones?"

"I already told you."

He didn't have to look up to know she was pouting. Well, to Arya it was a frown. Only ladies pouted and the heavens forbid if Arya ever pouted like a lady.

"The one where you think you're Nymeria?"

"I don't think, I _know_ it's her. I'm guessing she's somewhere in the north, because everything smelled like snow this time."

"There have been reports of snows beyond the Neck when winter starts to set, you know."

"You weren't the one in her head."

He coughed into his hand to hide his amusement at her huff. It was true he sensed Ghost most of the time, when his direwolf was near, or when he sometimes thought of calling, the albino wolf would appear. Jon had never dreamed he was Ghost though. Arya just missed Nymeria and was most likely wishing her own wolf to come to her. They lapsed into silence for awhile before:

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

He looked up from his sword to see Arya attending to her own blade. Grey eyes that matched Jon's own stared back at him curiously.

"Standing on top of the Wall."

The question made him pause. Trust Arya to ask something so simple yet hard to answer...

Growing up, he had fantasized about standing atop of the Wall, looking down at the rest of the world. All of Old Nan's stories of the black knights, of their noble duty to stand guard against creatures who wanted to snatch children from their cradles and carry them past the Wall and into the land beyond where it was always winter, had him dreaming what daring adventures he would have if he took the Black just like his uncle Benjen.

Having stood atop the hulking structure, it was easy for Jon to say childish dreams were just that. Dreams to be dashed against a wall, and his had reached their demise against one made of ice and stone and spells.

He had been sorely tempted, after spending a few watches up above the castle, to follow as the Imp had done. The dwarf surely had the right of things. Pissing on the realm when everyone else was stupidly playing their game of thrones when they should have been looking to the north seemed a swell idea at the moment.

"Cold."

He let out a chuckle at her expression.

"Well, it is."

"That's what Gendry said but I reminded him everywhere _north_ is cold."

Ah. The smith. He had spent his last watch with the other boy.

"Freezing then. A day without a fire burning, your fingers turn black and the maester'd have to chop them off."

"Liar."

Smiling felt so easy. It had been quite some time since he could properly laugh.

They were in his chambers and had the remaining afternoon free with the Old Bear seeing to some business in Shadow Tower and deciding to only ride with several officers. Plans were being made and they were to set off in two days time. Ranging beyond the Wall was what he believed as the real work, their duty, and the search for his uncle was what he had been waiting for, but now he felt oddly hesitant leaving when it meant leaving Arya behind with his 'brothers'.

"What does it look like then? From all the way up there."

"..."

"Everything's all ice and stone and it's quite hard to see with snow falling almost every night but when dawn comes, things look-appear beautiful."

"I'd like to see it some day."

"Maybe. Sam tells me you've been helping quite a lot with the records and research and yet you gave Maester Luwin such a hard time before to get you to sit through even a whole text."

"Well, we didn't have Osric Stark's journals. He was like our great-great-great-granduncle or something and he wrote funny."

A comfortable silence surrounded them. Although Long Claw definitely needed no sharpening, he liked the mindless action of sliding the whetstone against the flawless Valyrian steel. Apparently, so did his sister. The thought that she still had Needle, refusing to be parted from it had warmed him through and through. It was also as if it caused something to stay lodged in his throat.

He had decided to kill the boy that was Jon Snow as Maester Aemon had advised, and that entailed leaving everything from before the Wall behind. Trying to sever ties and creating new ones with his new brothers were what he had strived to do and here she was clinging to the only thing she said reminded her of the home they once shared, of _him_, of _their _family.

Jon still felt as if he were betraying Robb and his father despite resolving to commit to his vows. Now there was the added guilt of betraying his little sister. The threat of what was beyond the wall and the impending onslaught of winter had been pressing enough for him to realize his duty but...the things she'd been forced to confess...

The day Yoren had returned, Jon had gone with the Lord Commander to the castle's gatehouse after a sentry had caught sight of some stragglers heading towards Castle Black. The number of men approaching had struck Jon as strangely small but it was to be expected with the hazards raging down south. With permission from Lord Mormont, Tollet had led out a few men to meet the slow moving party.

He had noted with dismay that the group of new recruits numbered to about a dozen men and two were obviously still boys. Yoren had looked the worst for wear as he approached them muttering for a word with the Lord Commander as men of the Night's Watch attended to the new arrivals in the yard.

Sensing Ghost suddenly nearby, Jon had turned to watch in horror as the wolf dived into the group of men, causing shouts of alarm and screams from some of the recruits. He had dived in after but found one of the boys he had noticed clutching at the direwolf's neck. Before he could call Ghost to him, the ground had come rushing up to him as he was tackled to the ground by the urchin who suddenly had a death grip on his side.

A keening wail had startled him back to his senses. The voice was familiar but the sound was not. To his horror, the child started sobbing before being pulled off by one of the new recruits who looked as horrified as him.

"Jon! JON!"

He was already scrabbling to his feet to reach her instinctively before Yoren had yanked him back.

"If you want her safe, you better not do anything stupid, boy! The _boy_'s called Arry and you know _him_ by no other name." Yoren had whispered.

"Arry."

The name had tasted strange but it had caused her to still. With painfully slow steps, he had approached the ragged child with short cropped uneven hair all covered in muck. Shooting the recruit, who was holding her steady, a look making the other step away, he had gathered the creature that was all bones and raggy furs into his arms.

_'Arya. Arya. Arya.'_

With a quick word to Lord Mormont, Yoren had then led them to the King's Tower before barking out for the one who held Arya back to also follow.

Jon did not think he could ever forget that night in the tower.

...

_It was the first time Jon had entered the tower, following Mormont's steps with the Gendry fellow trailing behind him. They entered a sparsely furnished room that smelled dank and unaired while Yoren shuffled about to find a light. Jon handed the recruiter the flint he always carried for the Lord Commander's own candles but was unable to do anything else while Arya seemed determined not to let go of him despite any coaxing on his part._

_Despite being in the presence of the Lord Commander, Yoren unceremoniously slumped down onto the nearest seat as he motioned for the recruit called 'Gendry' to close the door behind him._

_Jon pulled her along towards one end of the room, holding her trembling form underneath his cloak. He was shocked, he was happy, he was mortified. The first was at her presence here on the Wall, the second at _her presence _here on the Wall, the last was at her presence _here on the Wall.

_"You're late."_

_The Old Bear's gruff voice cut in once he found himself a seat of his own by a desk opposite Yoren, motioning for the rest of them to follow suit and making no indication of noticing that a hysteric recruit was clutching at his steward but gave the odd glance at their other companion._

_"Didn't plan to, m'lord. We had a few...roadblocks on the way."_

_"Do elaborate."_

_The one called Gendry, was still eyeing Jon strangely. Jon took him to be about his own age, maybe younger. The recruit was broad shouldered and strong-looking, a southron by the color of his skin. The presence of the other boy bothered Jon. Yoren had strongely suggested that Arya's identity had and still had to remain a secret. Did this southron, who acted too familiar towards his sister, know?_

_Yoren had proceeded to explain before Jon noticed Arya finally stopped shaking. _

_"Gendry. Step for'ard for a bit, lad. This young man 'ere used t'be an amorer's prentice in King's Landing. The Lions put a price on 'is head."_

_The Old Bear took the southron's appearance in before blinking a few times._

_"And you brought him here to take the Black..."_

_"I asked no questions when a bag o' dragons came wi'him, m'lord. We needed the gold." Yoren said, shrugging. " The boy looked strong an' was in better shape than the lot I found in the dungeons."_

_A bag of gold? To smuggle out an armorer's prentice? Jon could feel Arya's tighten sharply. The other boy looked bewildered making Jon assume he hadn't known about the gold. Jon noticed the other's jaw tighten, as if wanting to ask but holding his tongue._

_"We've been hearing strange things from the south. One spoke of the queen having some babes of tavern wenches put to the sword. Does this mean anything to you, boy?"_

_"No, m'lord."_

_"..."_

_"Very well, see yourself back to the gatehouse. Look for a man named Noye. He'd know what to do with you." _

_Yoren was leaning dangerously to the side, threatening to tip off from exhaustion before barking an odd chuckle at the Lord Commander's order._

"_Noye?"_

_All eyes on the room followed Gendry out. The recruit hesitated a moment at the door to shoot a glance at Arya's direction before continuing out the way they came, shutting the door behind him._

_"And the Stark child?"_

_The Lord Commander wasn't stupid but Jon fervently hoped everyone else who'd seen the odd display in the yard wasn't as perceptive. He watched as the recruiter shrugged before replying._

_"A favor. Ned was Benjen's brother so I s'pposed he was extended family. Beg your pardons, m'lord, but I couldn't very well leave the foundling to starve in the capital's streets. I'd the notion of dropping the child off in Winterfell afore we heard 'bout the sack."_

_The use of the word 'was' made Jon feel sick. He stiffened at the conversation. Arya had been in King's Landing during their father's execution, had escaped the Lannister swords somehow, had traveled up Kingsroad despite the treacherous journey with a ragged bunch of men who could have done all sorts of things to her. The urge to join the war came rushing back to him in full force._

_"The Lannisters hold Stark's two daughters and we'd heard his two youngest boys were murdered in the sack. How'd one find his way to King's Landing?"_

_"I'm a girl. Yoren cut my hair."_

_All eyes were on Arya as she stirred from Jon's side to stare back at the Lord Commander._

_"Couldn't have a girl riding amongst rapers and murd'rers." Yoren put in._

_"..."_

_"Lady Stark." the Old Bear acknowledged, continuing to regard Arya with a peculiar look before turning back to Yoren._

_"Why the late arrival then? Any tidings from the south? We've sent crows to whoever's proclaimed hisself king but have yet to receive any help and I fear we've a more pressing matter than some squabble for a crown."_

_"What pressing matter? We've handled wildlings before-"_

_"I asked first, Yoren."_

_The Commander's tone stilled the senior recruiter._

_"Very well, m'lord. I can't say much. We made it as far as the Riverlands afore trouble found us. Some Lannister men had it in their heads tha' we were part of a group of outlaws led by Lord Beric Dondarrion. I told Lady Stark to make a run for it along wi' some o' the younger ones._

_I lost good men but managed to find other survivors after most of us were left for dead. I was able to find m'self new recruits who were more than happy to get away from the war. We rested at an inn near the Neck. The Crone must'a been watchin' over me because I found the girl an'er companions in a merry pinch with the same outlaws who the Lannister men mistook us to be. The girl knows more than I of what's happening, having been caught by the Mountain and 'is men then serving as bloody Bolton's cupbearer. T'would be better to hear it from her."_

_A sickening guilt threatened to engulf Jon completely as Mormont motioned him to bring Arya forward._

_"Lady Stark-"_

_"Arya."_

_"Arya then. I am Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You are quite safe here with us but I cannot speak for all of my men. You would do well to keep the matter that you are female to yourself. You may not need to speak of any of this again if you'd like but I would like to hear how you got here-safely."_

_"I had Needle with me."_

_At the Commander's puzzled expression and Yoren's strangely grim one, Arya shifted to pull out the thin sword Jon had given her._

_"Aye, the girl has her sword an' she knows how to use it too."_

_Yoren did not sound like he was japing, making Jon and the Lord Commander turn to his sister again. The recruiter seemed uncomfortable but was watching Jon's sister with a look of respect on his hard face. Use the sword? Jon knew she most likely had to defend herself but it dawned on him that while he had yet to draw blood with Long Claw, Needle had already been stained._

_"And I don't know much either, m'lord."_

_"Kindly begin from the moment you were separated from Yoren."_

_The request sounded more like an order as Jon watched Arya straighten and pull away from him. She gave a sideways glance at him before giving him her back to face the Lord Commander, nervously clearing her throat._

_"We-my companions and I returned to the holdfast to find no one alive. We got lost but found a town where the Mountain and his men were staying. They caught us, killed Lommy, and...questioned us with most of the villagers on the whereabouts of Lord Beric and the outlaws then brought us to Harrenhal. I was assigned to a steward as a serving girl while Gendry worked in the forge and Hot Pie was assigned to the kitchens, he can cook, you see."_

_She paused, looking as if contemplating how to word what she was about to say._

_"Ser Gregor had orders from Tywin Lannister to ride west after Robb."_

_"I-when the Mountain left Harrenhal, a...friend helped me free some of Robb's bannermen."_

_"A friend?"_

_"A man. He was one of the prisoners Yoren had kept in a cage when we left King's Landing. I freed him and two others when we were attacked at the holdfast. They'd joined the Bloody Mummers serving Lorch. He said he...owed me. He disappeared after but the Bloody Mummers turned cloak and joined with Roose Bolton's men."_

_With no one speaking, she continued._

_"Lord Bolton was able to take the castle and I was made cupbearer for helping free the men."_

_"You did not come forward as Arya Stark? Bolton is a Stark bannerman."_

_The Lord Commander asked. They had all noted her shudder at mentioning Bolton._

_"It didn't feel right. He-he was strange. I didn't like him. I learned about-about Winterfell and my brothers while I was attending to him. He planned to ride north to take back Winterfell from the Ironborn. He had Darry burned in the name of Robb. When I found out that Harrenhal was to be left to Hoat, the leader of the Brave Companions, and Bolton wasn't likely to take me with him north, I escaped with Gendry and Hot Pie and followed the Trident northeast."_

_"Escaped?"_

_"I killed a sentry that was guarding the gate we needed to pass through and we stole horses for ourselves. I had planned to ride to Riverrun to my brother's army but we got caught by the Brotherhood without Banners, the outlaws the Mountain had been sent after. Yoren found us and we managed to leave the town safely."_

_Killed. His little sister had killed. She had stolen. She had lied. She had done everything to survive. Arya, his Arya, who didn't like being reminded that she was a lady, who he had watched practice swords with Bran without thinking that she would actually need lessons, had spoken of killing in a matter-of-fact tone._

_"You know how to use a sword?" the Old Bear asked, seeming unbothered as Jon was._

_"My father-he hired a Braavosi swordsmaster in King's Landing to teach me. I'm also good with knives."_

_Lord Eddard Stark had Arya trained in blades, more importantly in the Braavosi style. The only explanation Jon could think of was that the situation in the capital must have been truly dire or the heat must have gone to their father's head for the late lord of Winterfell to allow his youngest daughter such an education._

_Lord Mormont let out a strange grunt. Jon wasn't the only one disbelieving._

_"Very Well then. You will stay as a recruit while I find out what to do with you. I can give you no special treatment and you will have the same training as any recruit. No one else is to know you are female for your sake. I'm assuming the Gendry boy knows?"_

_Receiving a nod of affirmation from Yoren, the Old Bear continued, rising from his seat._

_"You may find lodgings where you like. You look too young to have flowered so I presume it will be alright if you spend a few more nights with your companions."_

_"If I may, Lord Commander. I would like her to stay with me."_

_He would be damned if Arya spent another night amongst other men, amongst strangers._

_"Suit yourself. She will stay your responsibility for now, Snow. Leave us. I have matters to discuss with our recruiter. I will be dining in the Common Hall so you do not have to attend to me tonight."_

_"Yes, m'lord."_

_Jon slipped through a wormway and headed to his cells in Hardin's Tower with Arya in tow. They did not speak as they walked, even when they were inside his chambers. He drew her a bath and left to get them an early dinner. It was going to be a long night._

...

"Jon. _Jon_. What's the matter?"

Her voice cut through his thoughts.

"What?"

"You were frowning."

He smiled to see that she had mirrored his expression with a frown of her own.

"I was thinking."

"About what?"

"That I could sneak you onto the lift the next time I have my Watch."

"Really? When?"

He chuckled at her excitement.

"Yes. After I return from the ranging."

"I'll hold you to that."

As they fell back into contented silence again, Jon found himself regarding Arya once more. It had been almost a year since his departure from Winterfell and so many things had happened. Although Arya was still herself, fiery and stubborn and sometimes childish, there was a new edge to her. As if she saw the world a bit differently.

He had said nothing at first when he heard her whispering her prayer the first night they shared his bed. When he finally asked her, the thirst for vengeance in her voice was palpable. On the second night, he had woken to her crying and huddling behind him. Instinctively, he had reached out to hold her, hushing her until she fell asleep muttering.

"Arya, would you tell me what happened to you?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. Wanting to know everything that had happened to her, dying to ask but unable to bring it up, were what worried at Jon day and night since Arya's arrival.

"But you already know."

"I know what you said in the King's Tower wasn't everything."

He did not mean to sound so accusing and hurt but he had anyway. He laid Long Claw aside, meeting her eyes with his, willing her to understand.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me. I just...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that's happened. I'm sorry I have to leave. I'm sorry."

She hugged him then.

"It's okay, I can take care of myself and you know that. I'm sorry too. I feel sorry for not being nice to Sansa, for teasing Bran and Rickon, for not saying goodbye properly to everyone when I could have, when I should have."

They held each other for some time before she pulled away.

"It's just...I never thought of talking about it before. Things just happened."

Taking his silence for her to continue, she settled herself beside him fidgeting. He watched as she bit at her lip again, her grey eyes darting around the room.

"You don't have too if it's too hard."

"I want to." The resolution in her voice made him pull her closer.

"I, well, I guess it starts with me losing Nymeria. She was only trying to protect me and I had to send her away because of the queen and Joffrey. When we arrive in King's Landing, no one really paid me mind since I kept to the Hand's Tower and my training with Syrio, my dancing instructor. Father was always busy and Sansa was, well, being Sansa, the perfect lady having lunches and teas with the queen and the other ladies. One time when I got lost in the Red Keep's dungeons chasing a cat-"

"A cat?"

"Yes, a cat. Shut up."

"While I was there, I saw the dragon skulls-"

"Dragon skulls?" he could not help himself.

"Yes. They were huge. Now shut up."

He obeyed, sensing her fidget again.

"Well, I heard somebody so I hid because I wasn't supposed to be there. They were talking about lions and a wolf and I knew it had something to do with father. Someone wanted him dead and I told father but he didn't believe me and Jory-Jory promised to keep father safe but the Lannister men killed him too!"

He gave her shoulders an assuring squeeze, fighting down the foreboding feeling in his stomach.

"Days after, I'm training with Syrio when some Lannister men come to collect me. Syrio tells me to run and I fled the castle. I just left him there. I get my first kill when a stable boy tries to get me. It was an accident! I swear it! He wanted to take me to the queen!"

"I believe you."

"And then I stay in Flea Bottom for a while, then the execution happens. I tried to get to father and people were shouting at him and throwing things and calling him traitor! And then Ser Ilyn lifted Ice and-and-"

Jon held her until she calmed. He felt sick. Even though they had already wept together for their father, for Bran and Rickon, listening to how it happened was painful still.

"I didn't see. Yoren made sure I didn't see. He found me and took me with him and called me Arry. We left King's Landing and I met Gendry, and Hot Pie, and Lommy. We fought Lorch's men near God's Eye Lake and I escaped with the boys and a little girl called Weasel and—and things happen.

I was never Arya anymore. I couldn't be. Everyone wants Arya taken as hostage or prisoner or dead. I became Arry and then Weasel then Nymeria. I killed men and I don't think I'll ever regret it. I want to kill Joffrey and Cersei and the Mountain and others and I don't think..."

She drifted off. Her eyes were dry but imploring as they looked up at him, Arya waiting for his reaction. The problem was he did not know what to say. Did she want him to say it was alright or to tell her she was wrong to get her hands so bloody. Looking into her grey eyes, he brushed away stray hair from her face. So open, so trusting, so hopeful, so young, yet bloody, bloodier at an age he could not even imagine spilling another's blood.

He brushed a kiss on her brow and held her face to look straight at him.

"I will be leaving you again, the day after tomorrow, but remember this: You are _you._ You are Arya Stark. You had to hide under different names but the wolf in you remained and will remain. There will be justice done and maybe blood will spill but never forget who you are. You are my sister and I will always love you and accept you. We are a pack, you, me, Sansa, and Robb...

You are a wolf of the north. What are your words?"

"Winter is coming."

_'...I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls...'_

He would leave because of his duty, he would leave for his vows, he would leave to keep the realm safe, but most importantly, he would leave to keep his pack safe. He only hoped Arya would do something un-Arya like and not leave the safety of the Wall before he returned. Not yet. Not when seeing her safe was as important as keeping Long Claw sharp.

* * *

Red eyes turned to the south. Something was in the air, his ears twitching forward, he could almost hear her. His wild sister was coming. The one who wasn't afraid to bite.

He would howl but he did not, padding away instead to disappear into the snow.

* * *

**xxx**

**A/N: Gosh darnit. I got carried away, almost forgetting that this ain't a one-shot.**

**...**

**I was so tempted to put in '**but most importantly, he would leave to keep _her_ safe**' so whoever prefers this line, pretend it was this line you read...whatever floats your boat, right? (maybe a ship in this case). I'm sorry, I couldn't resist his last lines. **

**If anyone caught the tiny reference to 'Two Bastards on The Wall', good for you. There are inconsistencies, but hey, I wrote TboTW as a oneshot and before I planned to write this so this takes precedence, I guess?**

**This is an eventual Arya/Gendry. *grits teeth*. Arya/Gendry!...I...Maybe? No. Yes. ANYway, I will be getting on with events from the south but most of the events of Storm of Swords, south of the Wall, will remain canon until I decide otherwise. I think by delaying the ranging, many who died would be alive and many who lived might be the ones set to die and maybe nothing big changes at all. Ah, the wonders of changing the timing of things.**

**I suck at writing tragedy because I just can't kill off characters like GRRM, nobody can. ('cept maybe SilverRavenStar, epic writer of the mindblowing 'The North Remembers') So if you want to be shocked out of your pants at character death, this might not be the fic for you. I can't promise anything spectacular, just me writing romance.**

**Enjoy. Don't forget to drop me one. A review I mean.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N****: Thanks for all the support, you guys. I want to bitch about life so bad but it still doesn't excuse the three months worth lack of updates. Sorry. Here's chapter 3. (Read in 3/4 format...just because. Humor me)**

* * *

Chapter 3

Reunion

* * *

She loped out silently from the cover of the trees, raising her head to sniff the air. They had traveled north and as close to the ice-wall as they dared. The pack hunted but there was something beyond , far beyond the wall that raised her hackles whenever she or the lesser wolves got a whiff of it.

A gentle whine escaped her teeth. They'd picked up the faint scent of her brothers a few moons ago, now long gone, but one trail lead east and the other north, always north, beyond the ice-wall she watched warily. Strangely, she knew the silent brother no longer watched from the wall and had too gone north. She did not think she would see him again.

Sounds of unrest came from behind her, far inside the shadows of the woods before she silenced it with a growl and a snap of her jaw. She kept her pack hidden among the trees, only the older ones and herself being allowed to venture along the edges. The air made her pack skittish, the smell of something not quite right. Also, there was less food up here and the younger males were becoming more restless, constantly nipping at her flanks.

Giving the ice-wall one final look, hoping her two-legged sister could sense her too, she padded back to the comforting cover of the trees.

* * *

Gendry counted silently to himself as the hiss of steam from the slack tub met his ears. Pulling the rod of metal from the brine, he continued the process of heating then beating then cooling, all the while carefully shaping it to Noye's instructions.

Castle Black's forges were the coldest he'd ever known despite the flames from the hearth but he liked it well enough and preferred it over staying outside in the numbing cold. His shoulders felt stiff and his hands were growing numb from gripping the metal but he resisted the urge to pause and flex for a moment. If he wasn't careful, the metal cooled too quickly or needed some more heating than he normally applied. In a span of days, Noye had taught him small useful techniques the old blacksmith had learned that made smithing in the cold easier.

"Eaten yet, lad?"

He gave a quick glance to the side to see the castle's blacksmith enter with a sack hitched on a shoulder.

"I finished, thanks."

If Gendry knew how it felt to have a father, he liked to think it would be similar to the way Noye made him feel.

He felt a strange need to make the burly one-armed smith, who was as skilled and maybe even more so than Tobho Mott, proud where he did so for his old master out of obligation and gratitude to the renowned armorer for taking a bastard like him as a prentice. Gendry'd learned that Noye too had been renowned long ago before and during King Robert's Rebellion, the personal smith of the Baratheons until the day he'd lost his arm. Despite the old man's lack of limb, he worked metal with great skill.

Noye was kind and warm but firm in teaching Gendry how to better his trade. The man talked straight and honest and had an odd sense of humor. Gendry liked him all the same.

"If you're done 'ere, Edd needs a pair o' good arms. You can'ave the rest o' the day off 'til I calls for you."

He grunted in reply, returning his focus on the metal in his hands. Noye left after a few moments of observation, trusting Gendry with the forge. The old smith rarely had any helpers, Gendry found out earlier from some of the brothers, but he was trusting enough with Gendry. The Lord Commander and the men chosen to ride with him had left the day before at the crack of dawn and Castle Black felt emptier than usual with an odd quiet filling the grounds.

He adjusted his rhythmic beating before deeming his work satisfactory. Gendry lay it gently along with the other pieces to be brought to the lift later for reinforcement of the grills. He slipped off his smithing mits, rubbing at his jaw with one hand while he flexed the other. His calloused fingers felt out the growing stubble along the line of his jaw. He'd never had much trouble with facial hair before but he'd grown used to shaving when he could, once a necessity in King's Landing with the combined blistering heat of summer and the forges, now a useless ritual since most of the north men wouldn't be bothered to lose their scruffy beards. He supposed it helped with the cold.

He'd japed with Arya about growing it out one night when Jon had his watch on the Wall and she'd taken her dinner with Gendry and Hot Pie.

Gendry smiled at the memory of her crinkling her nose in distaste. It had made her look so young and so much like a girl, he had to fight the urge to tease her about it, knowing she'd have hit him and huffed off to find her brother or her brother's wolf.

When Gendry had pointed out that Jon grew out _his_ beard, Arya had only sniffed and said _"Because he's Jon" _in a tone that implied that was reason enough. As far as Arya was concerned, her brother could do no wrong. He'd resisted the urge to grumble but decided against growing a beard anyway.

It was strange looking at his life now. Summer was all he'd known but having traveled up north, having fought for survival and having reached the farthest north of Westeros, snow and ice filled his every day. He missed the sun and actually feeling its warmth but he guessed the cold wasn't all that bad.

If he stuck too close to Arya, no one noticed and she was less likely to mind than when they'd traveled sweaty and covered in grime. That was another thing about his life now.

Smithing had basically been the only constant in his life since he'd been allowed to learn and have the trade. Now, his days were filled with learning and crafting metal works and Arya, always Arya. Thoughts of her came as often and as normal as breathing. She'd become a constant presence in his life and the easy way she'd inserted herself in it made Gendry both grateful at having her as a friend and frightened at having someone important to him.

Since leaving King's Landing, the list of people he admittedly cared for had grown from no one to four in the span of less than a year. Growing up a bastard and an orphan with no family to call his own, he'd learned to rely on himself and on his own skills to survive. He'd rarely had the opportunity to rely on anybody but having encountered Yoren and the mottly group of recruits to take the Black and one Arya Stark, he found himself relying on others and being relied on unlike never before. It was strange and new and completely terrifying.

He admired Noye, trusted Yoren with his life, was oddly fond of Hotpie, and then there was Arya. He knew he cared for her but the feelings he felt towards Arya were so much more complicated than he would've deigned to think on so he settled with the word 'care' because it was so much simpler to call her 'friend'.

The first time she'd admitted to him being someone she considered a friend during one of their many forages together before reaching Winterfell, Gendry's stomach had flipped about disconcertingly and Arya had punched him for grinning like a fool all the way back to camp despite having found nothing edible all day.

Gendry proceeded to clean up as much as he could before leaving to see whatever else needed to be done. Having something to do at the Wall helped the men keep warm. He stepped out of the doorway only to have a small figure blocked his path. He couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips, already imagining what the person before him would say if she could read minds and hear he'd just thought of her as small. The warm pleasant feeling of having her near him vanished almost instantly upon seeing her face, quickly replaced with worry twisting his insides.

"You a'right?"

He knew he was hovering but he hesitated reaching out with his hands. Arya looked drawn and tired, the layers Jon had persuaded her to keep and wear made her look even smaller than usual, Gendry was tempted to pull her into his arms and hide her away. It wouldn't be the first time, the urge getting stronger by the day.

"I'm fine. Hotpie made me ask if you're busy."

Hotpie _made her_ _do something_? Gendry blinked at her a few times, disbelieving at the outright lie, before answering hurriedly.

"No. Wait. Maybe. Tollett might need my help but I've got the rest o' the day off. You could, uh, tell Hotpie. I'm free. Later tha' is."

She nodded at him stiffly before walking away. He frowned at her back before following, his legs carrying him quickly to her side.

She glanced up at him looking a bit irritated.

"What?" Her growl made him feel strangely better.

He grunted noncommitedly, "Headin' over t'the gates."

At least she was talking to him in that odd way he associated with Arya. Talking to her in one of her odd moods reminded Gendry too much of an old dog that'd been kicked one too many times.

Still, anything was better than having her keep eerily quiet, leaving Gendry to fumble about awkwardly in trying to make conversation. He'd learned to differentiate the numerous times Arya was tight lipped. The companionable silence was his favorite, when they didn't need to talk but just be _there_ with the other. When Arya was truly and utterly enraged, her silence carried more weight than threats. Those he could take because they were rarely ever directed at him. What Gendry hated the most though, among Arya's _quiet_ times, was when she looked as if she couldn't talk, when she looked ready to break and crumble from within, when she looked dead in the eyes.

Gendry found, if he talked long enough, that Arya didn't stay in the hateful state too long. Though he wasn't a talker, much less good with pleasantries or whatever nonsense the highborns thought appropriate conversation topics but having been with Arya during the rare times she was cold and withdrawn had him wanting to learn how to draw her out. He was getting better at it.

Gendry slowed his pace to an unhurried walk, stuffing his hands into the old coat Hotpie had managed to scrounge from the barracks. He could hear Arya huff in irritation, recognizing that Gendry had slowed his pace just for her. Her size was, as most of the more foolish men of the Black have learned, not something to broach with the one known to them as Arry, unless of course they liked being the focus of a constant unforgiving glare.

Gendry was, admittedly, one of the more foolish ones, willing to take whatever he could get as long as those sharp grey eyes were looking at him. Teasing her mercilessly was a good technique of both drawing her out and having her attention, he learned. It wasn't a surprise really that he didn't like anybody else making the 'short' jokes. Though _Jon_ never had to joke to have Arya's attention.

He continued sliding glances over to her at his side, unable to help himself. If he wasn't mistaken, Arya had gone to see him, most likely wanting to talk or just-sit in companionable silence or whatever it was that friends did, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Gendry wasn't sure he would be able to keep himself from teasing her if she had and she knew it. He could wait. Gendry could wait. Arya would talk when it suited her so he-

"For heavens' sake-I'm _fine_, alright?"

He coughed into his fist, trying to smother the triumphant smile that threatened to show. He snuck another glance at her before finally showing his smile at the way she rolled her eyes at him. At least she didn't look quite so drawn as before. He continued to watch her, barely noting their pace having gone into an easy walk.

"It's just-" she continued, "It's just that Jon's, you know...Gone. And Ghost too. And Sam was supposed to instruct me on how to deal with Maester Aemon's meals and-"

He watched her brow furrow as she stopped mid-sentence, looking a bit at a loss for a moment.

"Jon's comin' back."

The words were out before he could think on it, regretting it immediately. He'd had his own fair share of false hopes and there still was the very real possibility of Snow not making it back. He liked Jon mostly on principle. Jon was Arya's brother, her half-brother, the bastard brother she never would shut up about given the chance.

It was mostly because of Arya that he found he both liked and disliked Snow but at least Jon was a good man, Gendry could see that. The fact that Snow had been either quite foresighted or mad to give his nine year old _highborn_ sister a sword as a parting gift made Gendry respect the other bastard already. Arya loved her brother despite him being baseborn and Jon obviously cared as much. Despite the peculiar feeling in his gut that had him denying anything remotely close to jealousy, because that mostly meant naming all the other feelings Arya evoked in him and he just wasn't ready to face that yet, Gendry couldn't find it in him to wish the man ill.

"I know that! He will. He has too." she snapped at him. Her tone was sharp and cutting but her eyes held something else entirely. She clearly hadn't slept well. Her worry must really be something if Arya didn't even bother hiding it. Gendry felt his insides tighten a bit. He really hoped nothing bad happened to Jon because Gendry wasn't too sure of what might happen to Arya, what she would do, what _he_ would be able to do for her not that she would allow it, if she lost another brother she loved.

Her eyes were narrowed and her jaw jutting out stubbornly as if daring him to say anything else on the matter.

"Alright." His voice startled them both into realizing they'd stopped. They continued walking, talking about every little mundane thing to fill the silence. If either of them noticed the way Gendry's arm brushed against Arya's shoulder or the way her knuckles brushed the back of his wrist, no one said anything about it even as they parted ways with him jogging up to Tollett and her slipping down for the vaults.

* * *

Gendry choked on a mouthful of stew, trying and failing to not feel the heat creep up his neck and ears. Hotpie didn't seem to notice though, too preoccupied with eating his dinner before it froze up. Gendry was seated at one of the many scarred tables and benches that filled the Common Hall with Hotpie to his right and Arya to his left.

"_What?_"

Arya raised her brow at his reaction, looking as if Gendry'd asked something that wasn't completely reasonable to clarify on his part.

"The cold making you deaf? I _said_, I'll be sleeping with you from now on. We've done it before." Arya repeated, this time gesturing at Gendry and Hotpie and the few other brothers at the far end of the table. Oh.

"Why?"

"Because, if you hadn't noticed yet, _stupid_, it's cold at night. Actually, it's cold the whole damn time up here." Arya was wore an expression showing she couldn't quite believe Gendry was even asking.

Right. Jon wasn't around anymore and that meant she had no reason to stay on the other end of castle in a cell to herself when there was perfectly good _warm_ space among the _men_. Nevermind that she was a girl.

"I think you're forgettin' something 'ere, _Arry_."

He pitched his voice lower than usual but Gendry hoped Arya could see why he wasn't exactly being stupid when he'd asked _why_. It wasn't that he disliked the prospect of having Arya's familiar warmth pressed close against his back like those many nights on the unforgivingly cold and hard ground as they'd traveled, actually he quite liked that idea.

Gendry was more worried about the others who shared the barracks. During their journey, they'd all been bone-tired most of the time and nobody, except Yoren, barely noticed it when Gendry kept his bulk between the men and Arya or that Arya was usually sandwiched between him and Hotpie when there were no walls to put their backs against whenever they bedded down for the night.

Gendry frowned down at his bowl, knowing that the stew had already gone cold.

Not all of the men were stupid enough to believe that Arry had only been a stable boy of the late Lord Stark, not with Jon's badly hidden protectiveness of the youngest recruit. Gendry only hoped they'd only guessed that Arya was, at most, one of the Stark boys who'd managed to escape Winterfell's sack. At least the men who had an idea about her being a real Stark kept the matter to themselves, trusting their Lord Commander's judgement though Gendry wasn't so sure if their loyalty would keep them quiet if they found out Arya was a princess of the North. Taking the Black didn't mean a complete change of heart and morality, and most of the men that remained had been forced to join for one crime or another.

He shrugged his shoulders in a sort of reply. It wasn't like he had a say in it and Arya hadn't really been asking for permission. Gendry spooned up the rest of the stew, the cold slop doing nothing to ease the strange anticipation in his belly. Night wouldn't be so cold now, he guessed.

* * *

After they'd finished dinner, the three of them along with some of the younger brothers cleaned up the hall before heading to their quarters. Snow fell heavily that night making Gendry thankful, not for the first time, for the wormways that allowed them to get to bed relatively dry and warm. To think that it wasn't even winter yet, the idea made Gendry shiver anew, catching Arya's scrutinizing gaze beside him.

"You cold?"

The question made him snort out loud because really, who even asked that this far north? As if she could read his mind, Arya made a familiar irritated sound from the back of her throat that Gendry only ever heard when she thought he was being particularly stubborn or annoying. They continued walking, slowing a bit as Hotpie shuffled ahead sleepily down the stone corridor.

"You know..." Arya's voice was hushed, soft almost. That was when Gendry realized belatedly that she had her left hand outstretched to her side, trailing her fingertips gently along the lines where stone met stone. What did that say about Gendry if he was starting to maybe feel a bit jealous of a stupid wall?

"...Winterfell's stones were always warm. Even during really bad summer snows, the walls were warm to the touch. Old Nan used to say there was a dragon beneath Winterfell and Bran and I believed her for a while before Maester Luwin taught us about the hotsprings..."

Under the poor flickering light of the torches, Gendry could see Arya's eyes glaze over a bit. Arya had rarely spoken of Winterfell since they'd passed all those days ago that felt so much longer than just a few weeks. He felt grateful that she was able to talk about the home she'd once had to him but most often than not, he felt his heart ache for Arya and at other times, he allowed a little envy at her life that was so different from his to mix in.

"...but here..."

He watched her pull her hand back to her side, eyes blinking back into focus, as if remembering finally where they were, to look up at him. There must have been something in the soup, thought Gendry when he grasped her hand into his without hesitation fervently hoping to the gods that his hand was warm enough. Arya allowed herself to be tugged along. Gendry looking determinedly forward despite feeling the weight of her gaze boring a hole in the back of his head as they continued towards the men's quarters.

Upon hearing the hushed sound of others' voices that drifted in the corridor, Arya softly cleared her throat before gently withdrawing her hand. Gendry led them to one of the large rooms that were still in use by the men, there three others and Hotpie took up beds set closely to one another. There were dozens of other chambers, Gendry had learned earlier, that were no longer in use since most of the men found it smarter to share rooms and warmth with their brothers than be found alone and frozen dead in the morning. Only the officers had the choice of having a chamber to themselves, small but with a fireplace though someone had to keep the fires going all through the night.

Gendry nudged Hotpie from his spot by the wall, the other boy blinking sleepily before seeing Arya standing awkwardly by the doorway. He slumped off dutifully to the next bed without a word, taking his usual place as the second barrier between the Arry he knew and the rest of the men who were sleeping. As far as Hotpie was concerned, girl or boy, Arry was his friend so there was little to complain about except for the instances Arry was unreasonably mean to him, in his opinion.

Castle Black had done wonders for Hotpie's attitude, mused Gendry. It was a good change to their days on the road. Despite the cold, the other boy was faring well with many of the men voicing their approval about the improvement of their daily meals since Hotpie was informaly appointed cook's helper.

Slipping into the bed himself, Gendry lay on his side facing Hotpie's back before shutting his eyes, not even bothering to pull up the musty furs they used as blankets. He barely heard Arya crawl into the bed and he did not need to look to know she had her back to him, facing the wall. Gendry let the snores of their companions of the room wash over him, a steady sound before he too was pulled into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He woke suddenly, blinking in the darkness, his limbs feeling like lead. He assumed it was still night seeing as his companions were still fast asleep. He could feel the warm press of what he assumed to be Arya's head against his shoulder blade, the press of her knees against the back of his thighs confirming his guess that she'd turn to face him sometime during the night. She did that sometimes.

The first time he'd woken up to her clutching at the back of his tunic, he'd pulled away gently so as not to wake her. He couldn't bring himself to do so now. It warmed him from the inside somehow. He closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep before the feel of Arya shifting behind him woke him completely.

"Gendry? You awake?"

The words were barely audible but he could feel her warm breath wafting against his nape as she'd pulled herself up closer to his ear. He shivered involuntarily, feeling himself flush from heat despite losing all contact with Arya except the feel of her warm breath against his neck. He jerked his head in a nod, not quite trusting his voice just yet. Arya did that to him sometimes, made him feel all confused and strange and incredibly warm all over. Her gaze felt heavy against the back of his head and so he turned to lie on his back, making out the sight of her propped up on her right elbow. Even through the little light that filtered through the crack under the door, Gendry could tell her lips were pursed and her brows furrowed. It was too dark to see her eyes though.

"'s wrong?" His voice sounded gravelly, harsh against the quiet. He waited a while before she answered quietly.

"Nymeria."

_Ah_. Arya's direwolf. Gendry hadn't believed her at first when she'd told him about the direwolf pups the Stark children recieved, recounting one of her misadventures that involved a certain amount of wolf shit and quite a few displeased lords and ladies. '_What kind of lord gave his children wolf pups-direwolf pups for that matter, as pets?'_, was what Gendry had thought and said out loud at the time, at which Arya had promptly corrected him that it had been _Jon_'s idea all along. Gendry still hadn't believed her, assuming that maybe Arya was just exaggerating, that maybe the pups just looked a lot like pups of the wolf kind.

Then he'd gotten acquainted with the large mass of white fur that was Ghost, and really, who could blame him for _almost_ pissing his pants when the wolf had launched itself at Arya when they'd just arrived.

"Wha'happened?" He muttered calmly. Gendry waited while Arya shifted, creeping off the bed to turn her back to him facing the door.

"Arya?"

He got up, sitting himself at the edge of the bed feeling worry stir in his gut. Arya was acting strange-no-_stranger_ than usual. With only the sound of her clothes gently ruffling, she neared the door, looking about to leave. He followed her, trying to go as silently as she. Gendry trailed after her as she left the room, worrying that the cold draft they'd let in as they'd opened the door would've woken their companions. They continued walking with Gendry hesitating to ask what was going on. Arya obviously wanted to be quiet and he wasn't sure who was on watch tonight and what exactly Arya wanted to accomplish.

The freezing night air hit them like a wall. They managed to find themselves up one of the battlements that were rarely manned, the air dry and painful to breath. Gendry's nose and throat complained but he ignored the pain, trying to force the rest of him to warm. Even through the furs, he could see Arya shiver. He pulled her to his side without hesitation, muffling her surprised yelp with a gloved hand. Arya stiffened by his side, tensing up as if to say something but he cut her off easy.

"'m cold'n i's your fault."

He ground his teeth together to keep from chattering. Arya's small warmth helped little yet a lot at the same time. She snapped her mouth shut and if her cheeks looked a bit red, Gendry didn't say anything. They continued walking with Arya leading though the progress was slow. Gendry wasn't about to lose what little warmth he could get from holding Arya firmly against him, bracing his arm along her shoulders and gripping her other side. Not to mention getting away with being this close without either of them throwing a fit.

They reached the end with Arya pulling away while looking out the dark expanse that was generally south of the Wall. Gendry stood and tried not to fidget impatiently. He guessed it would be dawn soon, the surroundings not entirely making him think he'd gone blind, able to make out general shapes of black and dark grey along with the short puffs of white as his breath misted over. Rubbing his arms, he tried forcing some warmth but his fingers felt uncomfortably stiff.

A faint wolf howl made him snap his attention to wherever Arya was looking. The land was becoming more visible as darkness gave way to soft grey and shadows started sharpening. His ears strained against the silence, hearing only his and Arya's breath. For a moment he thought that the howl had been a fluke, wind blowing through The Gate beneath the Wall that Noye had shown him once, except there was no wind to speak of. Another howl, this time sounding less faint, had Arya sprinting past him down to the wooden gates fronting the yard. He cursed under his breath as he lumbered after her.

Direwolf or no, wolves still ate flesh and Gendry was going to be damned if he didn't stop Arya from doing something stupid like leaving the relative safety of Castle Black to investigate in near darkness based on a fucking _dream_. He didn't want her to get in trouble exactly but he fiercly hoped anybody on watch tonight was doing their damn job. The distinct sound of something scraping wood echoed eerily across the empty yard and early dawn light was finally filling his vision. Sounds of men stirring, most likely the ones stationed to keep watch, assured him that they'd caught the sound of the gates just as he did. The hairs on the back of Gendry's neck stood as a low howl echoed, contrasting sharply with the hushed voices of the brothers in black. Gendry couldn't see them yet but the voices were getting closer just as another howl accompanied the first.

He made it to the gates that had been opened slightly.

"Oi, what d'you think you're doin'?"

A brother Gendry could not put a name on hailed him as he tried to slip out. The other man jogged over to Gendry by the gates calling for his other companion with whom he was supposed to be guarding the entrance with.

The man had grabbed Gendry by the arm but he'd managed to step out, dragging the other with him just as dawn set everything to muted light.

"You're not allowed t'be-"

The other was cut off by another howl, making him turn his head to where Gendry had been staring. A dozen yards away stood Arya, a small figure, black against the all encompassing whites and greys of their surroundings. From where he stood, Gendry could see Arya raise a hand right to her mouth. A whistle, barely heard, but it carried to where he stood by the gates. More barks now, snarling and yips and growls that echoed, muffled still.

The man by his side shifted, muttering something Gendry could barely hear, only noting other voices approaching from behind the gates. Inside. Where it was safe.

"Wha' in th'world is goin'on?" growled the man.

"_Seven hells!_ Arr-"

The call died on his lips as movement rippled through the woods whose closest edge was quarter of a mile away, dark against the snow covered grounds and looming sky.

Before he knew it, Arya was _running_,_ the fool_, running _towards_ the goddamned trees, and his feet were moving beneath him, having pushed the other man away in a heap. _Gods_, Arya hadn't been lying when she'd called him stupid, just left out the part that he was a tad bit _more_ idiotic than her.

He kept on running, his lungs already burning from the icy air, though his mind remained oddly clear. He wasn't going to make it to her in time, his vision going a bit blurry as her dark figure disappeared under the shadow of the trees. Even through the buzzing in his ears, he could hear the hellish clamor of what sounded like dozens of wolves ringing in the air. _Bugger_, if this was like what Arya's wolf dreams sounded like, he was grateful for once that he still wasn't able to get what went on in her head.

Gendry shot a quick glance behind him, seeing the forboding figure of Castle Black against the hard white of the Wall. There were men spilling out the gates, waving their arms at, he guessed, him.

"Arya!-" No sense using her fake name now. "-We 'ave t'get back!"

He didn't think his voice would have reached her over the hellish noises. He was nearing the treeline, still shouting for Arya like a mad-man. Gendry was, by no means, a weak man but the deep snow he was trudging through made it an ordeal, his legs already soaked through with icy water. He stumbled to a stop, a yard away from the nearest tree. His knees shook as he tried to get a grip on breathing again. Inhaling sharply, he readied his lungs for one more call for Arya, noticing too late that the woods had gone eerily silent and the faint sound of alarmed shouts. Too late, her name was already out of his lips before his better senses took over.

Just as he managed to catch his breath, it was slammed out of him as something definitely made of muscle and teeth bodily launched itself onto him. Gendry found he didn't like flying much before deciding hitting the ground with a sickening crunch was much worse as the world turned black too quickly for his liking.

* * *

**I'm really sorry for the incredibly long overdue update. The next will be posted _soon,_ though how soon, I make no promises other than it will be out this month. Our break is coming up meaning two whole weeks of freedom(i.e. sleeping as much as I can and catching up with the fandom) before another sem full of tonnes of work and sleep deprivation. Still, all my love for you readers. Thanks for all the subscriptions and favorites and reviews and stuff. It helps.**

**If there are any inconsistencies, see something wrong, read something that pisses you of (OOC-ness, typos, and shit) feel free to pm or review about it. I'll try to fix it right away.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again for all the support, the subscriptions and favorites, and the wonderful reviews. This turned out shorter than I would've liked. Still, I hope you guys still stick with me. The pacing is slower than I also would've liked and planned but, eh, it's what's happening. Cliches and flashbacks, they abound. Two POVs here, Arya then Noye's. I like Noye. Another BAMF character GRRM decided needed a heroic death.**

**Read in 3/4 format. (Humor me, I find it looks better that way.)**

* * *

Chapter 4

Choice

* * *

Arya shivered, trying and failing to rub some feeling back into her arms. She sat alone, letting her thoughts stray. She'd brushed off the snow from the weathered stone before sitting but the cold still managed to seep in through the cloth. Yoren had taught her that despite the seemingly safe surroundings, it wouldn't hurt to have a watch up.

The wind whipping over the battlements was making an odd sort of noise. It sounded a bit like whistling and Arya wondered if the Children of the forest knew how to whistle. Silly really but she found herself curling her tongue, like the way Robb had taught her once, blowing a tune she faintly remembered hearing from somewhere.

When she'd grown old enough to realize that there'd been no goblins hiding in Winterfell's dark corners waiting in ambush for little lords and ladies to eat, it had been easy to think only of Old Nan's tales as something to scare babes with. Now Arya would never get the chance to apologize to the kindly crone for scoffing at the stories and for teasing Bran and Rickon mercilessly in their beds.

Stories were passed on for a reason, Maester Aemon had whispered one time, especially the ones that rang with warning but people never really paid any heed unless it was too late. And even though it was too easy to agree, Arya hoped that they could convince at least some people in the bloody realm _before_ it was too late. And if that meant using her new found talent, well...

It was strange really. She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the world Nymeria saw with sharp wolf eyes but there was little difference anyway with the whites and greys she saw everyday here at the Wall.

Arya was never cold in Nymeria's skin though.

She'd read about it when she hadn't helping Maester Aemon with his readings about the _Others_. _Wargs,_ skinchangers. That's what the old ones called people like Arya, folk who could slip into something or _someone_ else's skin. Jon didn't have dreams like hers so she'd wondered for a time if there was something wrong with her.

It had been odd to read about it, whatever legends or tales were spun about wargs, while going to bed dreaming of the strangest things.

Before reaching Castle Black, she'd had all sorts of nightmares about headless men and bodies flayed, left to dry in the sun. Since reaching the Wall, her dreams had gone awfully peaceful. Her sleep alternating between blissful dreamless slumber, her wolf dreams, and if neither of the two, she would dream of a clearing, white with winter as she lay in a bed of fresh fallen soft snow that never seemed to melt or seep through her clothes.

Where in her wolf dreams, she was always moving, power rippling as she prowled the lands with her pack, in the dreams she called her 'white' dreams she would lie still, feeling too sluggish to even shift. Only able to look up and gaze at the bare branches of a nearby heart tree and the stormy white and grey of the sky, though the snow storm never seemed to come.

Sometimes, she would lie there, just breathing 'til she woke in the morning.

Sometimes she could feel the familiar grip of Needle in her hand though she could never really raise her head to check.

And sometimes she would see one crow, or was it a raven? Flap over from the edge of her vision to land on one of the branches, cocking its head to the side as if watching and waiting for whatever Arya planned to do or if she was ever going to get up. Another raven, or maybe a crow, would follow, the brother, Arya wondered, before they both flew away, leaving her to stare up unblinkingly at the wintry grey sky.

Arya could never tell if she liked those dreams but she rellished the strength, the loss of control when she saw through the wolf's, _Nymeria's_, eyes. And then she'd gone and used Nymeria's body, actively _thinking_ of not ripping out stupid Gendry's throat. She was a warg and Arya felt the delicious thrill mingled with a little fear at her own power.

She was quick, yes, and good with a sword but with _Nymeria-_-Arya as Nymeria could tear through skin and bone without the use of steel, she could hunt down her prey and just the idea brought excitement to Arya's veins.

_Prey._

As Nymeria, she was the hunter and not the hunted. The stupid lions were going to see, they would all see. Her family's blood long spilt would be avenged. She would avenge them all. Her father, her mother, Robb, Bran, baby Rickon. She'd steal Sansa away whether her older sister wanted any saving or not.

Arya would avenge Winterfell. She would avenge her home. The thought was making her giddy all of a sudden.

'Not now', she chided herself. She would, but not _now_. Of the many lessons Syrio had managed to drill into her, she reminded herself that a 'stupid girl' is a 'dead girl', and Arya was done with being stupid.

She needed a plan, she needed strategy, she needed something though she still wasn't quite sure as to what it was just yet.

She paused in her musings as a large cold wet nose butted itself against her cheek, a rough tongue swiping at her face. To say Nymeria was big could be taken as a jape.

Arya's direwolf had grown into a large lethal bundle of teeth, muscle, and thick dark grey fur, with a slightly broader torso than Ghost.

Where Arya's hands had grown calloused, with her arms showing small nicks on the surface, Nymeria sported a leathery gash on her hind leg, where fur refused to grow back, as the only visible scar. The wolf's thick fur hid wounds well. Nymeria was a formidable hunter but that didn't mean no one had hesitated in trying to hunt her down.

Arya slung her arm over the wolf's neck, burying her face in the thick fur. The wolf vibrated warmth, just as Ghost had, so Arya clung a little more, shielding herself from the sting of the cold wind. Nymeria gave a low whine, as if sensing her sister's distress. Arya had sworn never to feel afraid again, never to fear again though she knew it was in vain. But she'd never thought that she would feel very truly afraid again, the death of her father and running from the Red Keep feeling so much long ago. And then stupid Gendry had to go and get himself nearly killed.

She'd told him about her dreams, about Nymeria and the wolves. He knew better. He should have known that she was going to be safe. The _stupid Bull_.

She nuzzled against the solidness that Nymeria offered against her.

When Gendry had refused to wake up, lying paler than she'd ever seen him on the snow covered ground, even when she'd screamed his name, she felt fear. She'd tried to keep a straight head but the fear had won out, had her frozen on her knees by Gendry's still form.

It wasn't until Nymeria had snarled and some of the lesser wolves who'd gone to investigate by the treeline growled warily did she snap back to reality, hearing a familiar gruff voice calling _Arry_ and saying to keep the wolves away from the body.

_Noye_. Noye who was brave enough to approach her with Nymeria guarding her. Noye who was brave, who was fearless. The stupid human. Noye who was telling her to back away so he could check on Gendry. Her friend.

Arya's eyes had fallen closed then, though not truly. She'd opened her eyes and she was seeing through Nymeria's.

* * *

_It was strange to see herself, so small, so pitifully weak, slumped in the snow by another body. The other body had not been a danger but she had felt no regret. The wolf did not regret. Then she saw a strange two-leg approaching warily, calling out. _'Arry?'_,_ _it asked. Arya inhaled, breathing in the man's scent._

_He too was not a danger, weak, weaponless, smelling familiar, but it did not stop her from raising her hackles. He was inching closer to the still bodies on the ground so she growled low. But the two-leg called out again. Words she did not catch except _'...Gendry'_. Gendry. The other body. Friend._

_She loped away, back to the cover of trees, feeling her way through the woods back to the pack that was not hers._

* * *

Nymeria continued to push, playfully crowding against Arya with warm solid weight. Arya laughed, unable to help it, as she struggled to keep herself from falling into the snow. Having Nymeria back, it was too easy to remember home.

Too easy to remember rolling in the dirt with the puppy version of Nymeria on Winterfell's grounds until her dress got all mucked up and had baby Rickon giggling with Shaggydog yipping noisily around them. Easy to remember lying on her stomach with Jon on one side and Bran on the other as they crawled through the Godswood, scaring Sansa and Lady as they sprang out in surprise. Robb had only laughed then, heartily pulling Jon up and clapping him on the shoulder before attempting to placate Sansa.

She was still smiling even as a faint howl from somewhere far away had her direwolf's ears pricked up, alert as ever. Nymeria returned the call, low and smooth sounding, before gently butting her head against Arya's.

* * *

_Arya woke up later, strangely warm and bundled in furs._

_She, no, Nymeria, had been in the middle of a hunt, the lesser wolves had managed to dig up a family of squirrels before she'd blinked and a room bathed in warm yellow light of a fire filled her vision._

_She pushed herself up to sit up on the bed she'd been placed in, recognizing the chamber immediately. She'd been here once to watch as the maester, with Sam's help, bandaged up a man whose hand had been caught in one of the winches that pulled at the lift._

_"Ah. Lady Stark, you are awake then?"_

_The familiar soft voice made her turn to see Maester Aemon slumped in a chair by the fireplace, watching Arya with unseeing eyes._

_"Is Gendry alright?" The words were blurted out before she could stop them and she knew it was futile to cover up the worry in her tone, guilt eating up at her from the inside. Even if Nymeria did not regret attacking Arya's friend and she had managed to keep the wolf from going for the smith's neck, Gendry had gotten hurt nonetheless._

_The maester was silent and for a moment, Arya feared the worst. Aemon remained quiet before gesturing at a bed nearby. Relief flooded Arya as she watched as the person whose bulk could only be Gendry's lay sleeping, chest rising and falling gently._

_"A few broken ribs and some bruises but he will live."_

_Arya stiffened, her hands clutching tightly at the blankets._

_"You called me Lady Stark."_

_"The children of Eddard Stark, if I am not mistaken, were the only ones said to have kept direwolves as pets. Two daughters and Jon remain of the six, if rumors are to be believed. I am terribly sorry for your loss, my lady. Rest and do not worry. You will come to no harm here."_

_"Who else knows?"_

_"As for now, Donal Noye and I know your true gender. I assume the Lord Commander, Yoren, your brother, and your two friends know as well but have been asked to keep it quiet. As for the rest of the castle, I am sorry to say your identity as a Stark could not be kept hidden. The men are a superstitious lot and, needless to say, the arrival of a hundred or so wolves led by a direwolf is quite unsettling, my lady."_

_Arya swallowed, her throat feeling dry._

_"I'm not-just. Please just call me Arya. How long was I in...how long was I asleep?"_

_The older man tilted his head, pondering for a moment._

_"Only a day."_

_Gendry was alright. Noye hadn't left her out in the cold to die. __They knew who she was, maybe an idea of what she was._

_She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. At the moment, Arya did not know what to think. Silence filled the room as Arya found herself looking at the heavy oakwood door. She did not fool herself into thinking her new-found ability would remain a secret._

_"Did you know that as a boy, I'd always been fascinated by the tales about Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya, and Rhaenys, and the dragons they rode."_

_"Balerion the Black Dread for Aegon, Vhagar for Visenya, and Meraxes for Rhaenys." Arya said, before realizing she had interrupted. Aemon only gave her an amused smile before continuing._

_"Indeed. It is said that unlike the Targaryens who followed with dragons of their own, no one could match the connection between Aegon with his sisters and their respective dragons."_

_Arya did not know if she was expected to reply._

_"If I may, what do you call your wolf, Arya?"_

_"Nymeria." She smiled in spite of the strange turn their conversation had taken._

* * *

In a few minutes, the wind brought a slew of fresh snow. It would be wiser to keep moving, she thought to herself. Snow up the Wall was rarely ever like the gentle fine powder that she was used to during the summer snows growing up in Winterfell.

Dusk barely set but so little light remained, the wind sounding more ominous than ever. Arya stalked towards the heavy metal-barred door, it's scarred wood resisting as she slowly pressed her weight against it. It gave after a few moments but she opened it only by a bit, just enough to let her through.

Nymeria nosed, sniffing noisily at the opening. Sounds of stricken braying started up, the mule she'd been allowed to have sensing a predator nearby. It wouldn't do to lose her means of transportation so early on. As much as Arya would have preferred sleeping with Nymeria than the mule, she needed to keep the skittish animal calm. Having the dilapidated grounds of the castle occupied by wild wolves would certainly cause any normal creature to fear for its life.

She slipped in, trying to shush it but too late, howling begun on the outside, none of which were Nymeria's. Hoping Nymeria could lead the other wolves on a hunt that did not include her or the mule, she barred the door behind her.

* * *

_"Ah. The fierce warrior queen. A fitting name. What about her litter mates?"_

_Pain twisted inside her. She swallowed, her throat dry, feeling her eyes sting. Words spilled before she could hold it in._

_"Sansa-Sansa's wolf, Lady, was the tamest of the pack but Cersei had her killed anyway. Robb's was called Greywind. Lannister men had the wolf's head sewn onto my brother's shoulders. I don't know what Bran called his but baby Rickon, he was just a baby so he didn't know any better, called his Shaggydog. Rickon couldn't control him much. I don't-I don't know what happened to them after Theon had my brothers killed. Only Ghost and Nymeria are left."_

_Her voice cracked near the end. She didn't even know if Jon was coming back. She wasn't stupid. All she could do was hope but hoping did little to quell her worry. If Jon didn't come back, only Sansa and her were left and Arya wasn't even sure if Sansa was still alright._

Gods_, the lions and their friends were going to pay._

_Not for the first time was the maester looking at her sadly. She did not want the pity but she supposed he was as understanding as they came. The blankets were twisted around her white knuckled fists before she noticed and calmed herself once again. It was quiet, the sounds of firewood crackling in the hearth the only thing permeating the air._

_"Child, what do you plan to do now?"_

_"Arya." She corrected him quietly, turning his question over and over in her head._

_"Arya..." he sighed, sensing her stall, "...I hope you will not-"_

_"Thank you for everything, Maester Aemon, but I do not think you would understand."_

_"Oh, child, I understand more than I can say." His voice sounded weary and sadder than ever._

_And for some reason Arya could not explain, she believed his words to be the truth. __And she found herself wanting to trust him, wanting to trust someone._

_His sincere concern had turned out more effective than any other method of interrogation and she found herself sharing about her encounter with Jaqen H'ghar and the strange iron coin._

_After which, the old man had gone deathly still and Arya could not fault him for it._

_"An invitation." his voice rasped._

_"Yes. Have you truly told me all you can of the House of Black and White?"_

_"Child..."_

_"Please, Maester Aemon."_

_Moments passed but his lips remained shut. Arya hardly noticed Gendry stir on his cot. She waited but he did not reply. Gendry did not show any signs of waking up soon._

_"Is it because you see me as a child? Is it because I'm a girl? I can get stronger. I know I can. Syrio said I had potential. The assassin must have seen _something_ to offer me this."_

_Arya's voice rose in volume, her tone getting sharper by the word._

_"Only desperation, Arya. You have it and many a man have succumbed to less. Do not let your want for revenge blind you."_

_"I have a choice."_

_"A choice you do not need to make." The maester's voice was pleading._

_"You know better to say that."_

_"..."_

_"You know better." She could not keep her voice from cracking._

* * *

The air smelled musty but at least it wasn't freezing cold. She stood at the edge of one of the larger chambers she found that remained stubbornly sturdy against the weather. The black mule was still tied but tugged at its rope nervously, eyeing her warily. It had eaten the hay she'd lain out for it earlier.

Arya checked on her supplies. At least she'd managed to reach Woodswatch-by-the-Pool before dark had completely fallen and she hoped to make the her stock last. She curled herself in on a makeshift bed, wishing she'd had the foresight to scavenge for firewood earlier that day.

She'd made her choice. She just hoped her way east would be as uneventful as the past day. She whispered her list then Arya slept, trusting Nymeria to take the next watch.

* * *

"Your friend says you haven't been eatin' proper as o'late."

Despite the furious sound of metal pounding on metal, Donal knew the lad had heard him. Stubborn boy. It wasn't surprising that he found himself caring for the lad, if the near heart-attack he'd had three days ago was any indication.

"Lad, enough."

The pounding did not stop.

"Boy!" He did not mean to raise his voice, _Gods_ knew Robert had been just as stubborn.

A loud clang resounded as the hammer slipped and bounced off, hitting one of the workbenches that lined the forge.

Donal sighed heavily, leaning on the doorway. He watched the young man's shoulders heave. Not for the first time did he note the other's familiar physique. The younger fellows had started calling the boy 'The Bull'. It seemed it's what his new prentice had been referred to during their travel up north.

"You let her leave."

The statement was said so quietly, he'd almost missed it. Noye's brow furrowed as the other turned to face him. Angry blue eyes set in a face that reminded him of years long past met his.

"Yes, I did."

* * *

_He waved his arms, signaling at the gaping men by the gates._

_The bloody cowards hadn't even bothered to leave the 'safety' of the castle, even when the wolves had gone, only their baying and howling could be heard from far behind. After some hesitation, seven or so men broke away from the group, running as he signaled them to quicken their pace._

_Donal turned back to check on the bastard boy, checking for a pulse. At least the lad was still breathing, though one didn't have to be a maester to know something was wrong. A few minutes ticked past and he peered behind him to see the brothers skirt warily to the side, eyeing the woods where the wolves had disappeared though they could still be heard._

_Praying to the gods the wolves wouldn't bother them anytime soon, he barked out orders. He paused to think if it would be wise to move Gendry's body but opted to trust that the boy hadn't been damaged much. Noye didn't see any blood._

___"You, you, and you-" he pointed as he called, "_take'im to the maester, careful'n'easy. He ain't breathin' right." He motioned the other men closer, leaving Gendry to them before shifting over to the other prone figure on the ground. He shuffled around, positioning himself to heft the child over his shoulder with his good arm.

_"The rest o' you-" he noted they'd brought weapons. Good. "Stay alert. We dunno how long them wolves plan on makin' themselves scarce."_

_They shifted, notably restless as they tracked back to the castle._

_Once Noye had the gates barred, he grunted in approval seeing as more than few of the men had equipped themselves with longbows, a dozen or so keeping to high ground. The sounds of wolves still echoed, unnerving many, including him. He moved to take in his surroundings, the Stark child still on his shoulder. The men had started talking, murmuring, nervous._

_"...you saw tha' monster?"_

_"Aye. Bigger'an Snow's, I reckon."_

_"Seven save us, can ya hear'em out there?"_

_"...sounds like a'undred or so."_

_"First was'em wights, now we'm'ave to gets eaten by bloody wolves?!"_

_Donal grit his teeth before calling for any semblance of order._

_"Enough! Don't jus' stand there gabbin'. Somebody 'ave the officers informed. Double the watch and I want a constant patrol until those damned wolves bugger off!"_

_He trudged after those who were carrying Gendry, muttering under his breath._

_"Damn Starks an'their bloody wolves."_

* * *

It was the first display of temper he had seen from the boy. Donal would not be quelled. He'd handled a young Robert in all sorts of outbursts, he could handle this one.

"She could die."

"She's safer with 'er wolves than anywhere else."

When Noye had first met the bastard, he'd had no qualms in assuming the boy was one of Robert's, though a bit weathered and more mature than the eldest Baratheon brother had been at the same age. Tragic that the boy had fallen for the Stark girl.

He meant the girl no ill, but he'd seen the realm fall apart and men lose their lives just for one pretty face. Ned Stark had been a good man, Benjen and Snow too. He'd thought that maybe fate was giving the Houses Baratheon and Stark another chance with the young lives of the bastard boy and the Stark girl. It seemed like it wasn't meant to be.

The best he could do was ensure the girl had what she needed and the boy remained safe. Young love could always fade.

The young man's fists remained balled at his side. Quiet and fuming. He looked about to stalk out and do something foolish, like a certain spitfire he knew.

* * *

_"Maester Aemon asked me to help you if you needed anythin'. My lady" he tacked on the correct address. It had been a long time since he'd talked to a noble woman though she was far from looking like one._

_"Not a lady." her muttered correction made him snort but it sobered him up quick. He'd known about a lady once who never did like being called one. Robert had been a talker, especially when drunk, but it was Benjen who had shared more stories, more insight on the woman for whom Donal had gone to war for._

_He'd hoped to surprise the girl, but she only paused to regard him coolly. She turned back to her packing whatever supplies she'd managed to acquire._

_"You said goodbye yet?"_

_"No." Her voice betrayed little but she stilled, eyes downcast._

_"You plan on tellin'im?"_

_"No."_

_He watched her quietly. He knew two bastards who wouldn't be too pleased with her leaving while the rest of the men would be all too relieved._

_"I'll need a mule." she said quietly, this times her eyes met his. Grey and sharp._

_"A mule? Not a horse?"_

_"I'm travelling along the Wall."_

_The maester had looked forlorn to Donal when they'd talked. He knew the girl had guts but he hadn't thought she'd be fool enough to travel on her own, wolves or no._

_"Alright. Would you care t'share where you'll be going?"_

_"East."_

* * *

"Lad-Gendry, understand tha' she made her choice. She was no safer 'ere than down south and the Night's Watch takes no part. If you plan on takin' the Black, you be'er make your own too."

"I have a choice?"

"O'course you do. Everyone has one, jus' not as obvious for others as most."

He tried to give the boy an encouraging smile. He just hoped he was doing the right thing by giving the boy a way out.

Donal left the other looking thoughtful, trudging through the snow to find a brother interested in sharing a drink. He would need a lot tonight before he could finish the project he'd started when the lad had first arrived. Maybe the boy would be wiser in using it than his ancestors had been.

Clanging started up from somewhere behind him, the warmth of the forge still reaching his back. He smiled to himself. Yes, the boy was stubborn but he would know better.

* * *

**Next one includes POVs of Arya, Gendry, and Sam. Thanks again, all, for the support.**


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